The winding river channels in the sketch I posted on Wednesday reminded me of the unusual hiking “trails” they have on the campus of the Penland School of Crafts. They’re just mown right into the grass of the huge central meadow in front of the school. From up the hill, it looks like some sort of fairy maze.
Considering the otherworldly haze of the Blue Ridge Mountains surrounding the spot on all sides, I’d believe it.
As much as I love road trips, my hands-down favorite way to get between Tacoma, WA and Portland, OR is by train. Especially along the Puget Sound—where the tracks run literally inches from the shore—the views are absolutely gobsmacking. On this day, I was lucky enough to have a flawlessly sunny afternoon (in April that’s tantamount to a miracle round these parts) for my solo trip, and a return ticket at sunset. And best of all, the lovely conductor at the Portland station saw me sketching in the lobby—when he came to me in the boarding queue, he pointed at my sketchbook, gave me a wink, and assigned me a window seat on the west side of the packed train.
Wherever you are, Mr. Conductor, you completely made my day. Thanks a million.
When the Tailor and I drove to Texas last year, we planned our return route around my decades-long desire to visit Roswell, NM. I was so excited to see what kind of alien-themed kitsch would be waiting for me that I banned myself from looking online to see exactly what was there. I just didn’t want to spoil the surprise. But I did daydream about the possibilities—giant replicas of crash-landed UFOs! Thirty-foot little green men! Alien-head-shaped doughnuts! Intergalactic ferris wheels! Postcards that glow under blacklight! Costumed interpreters! Tinfoil park-ranger hats! Saucer-shaped souvenir stands on every corner! Newsstands devoted solely to the Weekly World News! Cheesy space junk encrusting every square inch of the town! I was positively quivering with anticipation.
Well, I so want to be able to tell you that it lived up to my most ridiculous fantasies—but alas, I can’t. There weren’t alien tchotchkes everywhere, nor were we surrounded by roadside attractions. All we really found was a museum (closed that day), a couple of sparse souvenir shops, and a handful of scattered E.T. effigies—so few, in fact, that I couldn’t even fill one whole spread in my sketchbook. And that makes me sad, because just think of the things Roswell could learn from somewhere like Wall Drug!
I’ve stumbled across more UFO kitsch in completely random places than I found by scouring Roswell that day. For example, in Everett, WA is a charming saucer-shaped park shelter. There’s no connection to alien lore that I know of (except maybe its proximity to the Boeing factory), but it’s charming nonetheless. How cool would this be in Roswell?!?
And then there is the totally inexplicable—and completely awesome—pair of alien-themed barbeque (!?) restaurants in North Dakota, of all places. I got to revisit the Fargo location last summer with the Tailor—and the poor man got treated to my rant about how this was how alien kitsch was done, people. Chrome dinettes and all, thank you very much.
Oh, if only I had the means to start a proper UFO tourist trap in Roswell. It would be a beautiful (and eye-frying) thing to behold.
This has always been my favorite building in Denver. When I lived in Colorado as a kid, and my family would visit the city, I always wanted Dad to drive the loop around the Civic Center. Then, as we passed on Bannock Street, I’d look out the window and crane my neck to watch the curved colonnade sweep by.
I still do that, come to think of it. The Tailor and I still have family in Denver, and whenever we’re in town visiting, there I am gazing upward on Bannock Street.
The building becomes a riot of color during the holiday season, when they light up the façade at night. I still haven’t managed to sketch that yet—maybe I’ll bump it to the top of the to-do list.
ETA: Update! I finally got to sketch the City & County Building in its holiday colors—you can find my sketches here.
I never pass up a chance to visit my friends Sarah and Jesse. Not only are they some of my favorite people on the planet, but they also happen to live in one of my favorite neighborhoods in San Francisco: Dogpatch.
(How could I not love a place where my friends live on the same block as the Hell’s Angels?)
Dogpatch is home to beautifully-preserved Victorian architecture—
—and some of the best food in the city, whether you eat in or out.
It’s the kind of place where the residents are deeply invested in their neighborhood: many of the local business owners live right there, and everyone is passionate about Dogpatch’s history, pride and charm.
And beignets. Everyone is passionate about the beignets.
In fact, I’d say they’re the final tasty touch on making Dogpatch a little deep-fried slice of heaven—with or without the Angels.
When my best friend Elizabeth came to visit last year, she told me she’d always wanted to visit the San Juan Islands. So we packed every bit of waterproof gear we had and headed north for a girls-only trip.
We spent a good chunk of our trip on various boats—
—which, even in spring’s constant cold drizzle, is the best way to see the islands (and their inhabitants!) in all their misty glory.
Still, even though we’d gladly risk pneumonia any day to catch a glimpse of an orca, it was wonderful to have a warm, cozy room to come back to at the end of the day.
We are landlubbers, after all.
There are a lot of Paul Bunyan statues out there (and I’ve sketched a bunch of them, as you’ll see in the coming months), but I honestly think there are none finer than the magnificent Paul and Babe way up nort’ in Bemidji, Minnesota. In fact, I may go so far as to say these guys are among America’s best-ever roadside attractions.
But that’s just me. How about you—do you have a favorite Paul Bunyan? Bangor? Portland? Muncie? Klamath? Brainerd? If you could pick any Paul, which would you choose?
Of all the “world’s largest” giant fiberglass animals out there, this isn’t exactly one people make cross-country pilgrimages to see. Yet for some reason, it’s one of my all-time favorites.
Actually, I think it’s because with the help of the surrounding landscape, this chicken would make for one hilarious monster B-movie.
If only Ed Wood were still alive…
You know, I stopped to sketch this guy (and suffered my least favorite sound in the world) because the bizarre combination of Scots and Salish is exactly the kind of melting-pot absurdity that I love. But then afterward, it occurred to me that if I had to pick just one sketch to sum up Victoria’s history, this might be it.
The Tailor and I love peaches (and he loves canning them) so much that we’re willing to drive four hours to get them fresh from the orchard.
(Of course, that also means I get that Movin’ to the Country, Gonna Eat a Lotta Peaches song stuck in my head every year…)
You’ll find a few orchards on our side of the Cascades, but most of our famous Washington fruit is grown in the central part of the state, near the Columbia River Gorge. Crossing the mountains is a lot like entering a parallel-universe Washington, where instead of rain and emerald greens, you get high rugged cliffs and desert sun.
And sweet, delicious fruit.
So even though the farmstand ladies look at us like we can’t possibly know what we’re in for (oh, we do), we fill our tiny car to the brim—
—and break out the mason jars when we get home.
